


Consumation

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, Realization of Feelings, Takes Place in Musicalverse but Contains Elements of All Three, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Beetlejuice and Lydia find their marriage isn't exactly binding yet. And the Demon immediately seeks a way to rectify the situation.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 11
Kudos: 207





	Consumation

**Author's Note:**

> So this one has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and thanks to the encouragement of a discord friend, I decided to finish it. Hope you all enjoy something a little different from me, now let's get to it.

Normal was a relative term, especially in the Deetz-Maitland house. Because this was a house which contained a family of six; one “couple” of four adults, their goth daughter, and her demonic spouse who wasn’t exactly a spouse. They were married, by Netherworld law, but they wouldn’t have considered themselves a couple. Maybe a couple of best friends, but not necessarily romantically involved. Sure, they touched a lot. Hands on arms, shoulders, head scratches, kisses on crowns, on cheeks, cuddles. But all of that -or so Lydia would argue to her grave- was because Beetlejuice was touch starved, which made him super clingy. A bit of affection here and there kept him out of her personal space, which was how she liked it. And so, normal had an abnormal definition for the people who lived in that house on the hill in Winter River Connecticut. But even strange days could develop a routine if you had enough of them. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case on this particular morning.

They were sitting in the dining area, eating quietly. Breakfast for Lydia had always been a bit awkward since her parents and the Maitlands had become a thing. They were happier for it, and Lydia was happy that they were happy, but even so; she now had _four_ parents, and it was weird seeing even two being so casually affectionate with one another. She might have even have argued that it was gross, in the same way that seeing all parents doing that was gross. But there they were, eating quietly, Beetlejuice hunting down a spider he’d sworn he’d seen crawling around on the ceiling for his own sustenance, when there came the telltale sounds of a door being drawn to open up the portal between worlds. And out stepped Miss Argentina.

“Tina!” Beetlejuice exclaimed, as excitable as a newborn puppy at pretty much all times nowadays, “How’s my favorite bureaucratic bombshell? What’s got your maracas shaking this time lady?”

“Hilarious Rayas,” Miss Argentina said, while looking not in the least amused. Since Juno’s untimely… “demise” Tina had been instated as head of the Civil Service of the Afterlife. Which meant she had a lot more work for very little benefits. But they’d agreed to shorten her sentence if she took over, so she’d agreed. As per usual she was carrying her little clipboard with her, constantly checking paperwork if not looking for files. Because death stopped for no one she was always busy, and was only able to make time if someone came to visit _her_ , “But I’m here for business, not pleasure,”

“Like you could feel that anyways,” Beetlejuice grumbled, automatically going to stand by Lydia, “This isn’t about her, is it?”

“No,” Tina shook her head, “But it _is_ about you. Both of you, actualmente,”

“What _about_ me?” Beetlejuice asked, sounding testy and resigned, “What, is matricide now frowned on by hell?”

“Of course not, this is Hell we’re talking about. Heaven is the one that frowns on that sort of thing,” Tina shook her head, “But, here’s the thing poquito, you two,” she pointed at Beetlejuice and Lydia, “Are married, because you said your vows and he was dead when you made them. However,” she added, “There are certain… _requirements_ for your marriage to be considered valid, and you only have a certain amount of time to complete them or else…”

“Or else what?” Beetlejuice asked, sounding both angry and perhaps a little panicked. His hands tightened on the back of Lydia’s chair.

“Or else you go back,” Tina informed him, “With no way to escape. _And_ , you’ll be serving a civil sentence for attempting to escape Death,”

“Shit,” Beetlejuice swore, “Well, what’s the problem? Lydia and I said our vows, we said “I do”, she wears the ring on her finger,” Beetlejuice held up her left hand where a beautiful obsidian ring rested on her ring finger, “What am I missing?”

“The consummation,” Tina clucked her tongue and reminded him. She tapped her little clipboard and suddenly there it was. _The Handbook for the Recently Deceased_ , “It’s all here in black and white, unlike your dingy suit. Chapter Sixty-Nine; On the Due Process of Inter-Life Status Marriages. And here I quote, “the marriage _must_ be consummated to be considered binding and valid, or else the soul brought to life by the marriage,” -or in your case granted presence in the living world- “will be stripped of living or designated honorary living status and living world visa and returned directly and immediately to the Netherworld, whereupon they will endure a punishment as decided by the Head Office for the next seven centuries _at least_.” So,” Tina concluded as the book vanished and she looked at them, “there we have it.”

Color drained from all the living faces in the room. What? Lydia had to… they had to… or else… Oh dear, this was all a bit much.

“You mean…” Beetlejuice began slowly, as though still trying to process as he spoke, “That in order to stay here, with them, Lydia and I have to…”

“Sí,” Tina nodded, “You’ve been married and out in the living world for almost a year poquito. The Powers that Be, they have their rules. And they don’t consider a marriage valid until there’s blood on the sheets, so to speak. You have another two weeks to consummate your marriage or it becomes invalid and you will have to return to the Netherworld, comprende?”

“But-”

“No buts!” Tina told him, “Adios chico, remember, two weeks.”

And with that she walked out and the door closed behind her, sealing off the world of the dead from the one of the living. No one knew how to react, in spite of the tumultuous history, the parental figures had come to begrudgingly accept Beetlejuice’s position in Lydia’s life. He was the closest person to her, the only one able to make her smile or even laugh without fail, the one whose arguments caused her the most pain, the one whose separation from her made her almost as depressed and moody as she had been after her mother’s passing. But even so, to imagine them… _consummating_ their marriage. It left a sickening feeling in the pit of their stomachs. Beetlejuice had said almost a year ago all he’d wanted out of the marriage was to be able to come to life. That was it. There was no mention of wanting Lydia, and yet, deep down, no one had believed him. His affection for the mortal girl had been obvious even back then, though he himself probably hadn’t been aware of it.

But now they were in a real predicament. No one wanted Lydia to… to… well, they didn’t want to think of her engaging in that sort of activity at all but especially not with _Beetlejuice_ of all people. But they also knew Lydia likely wouldn’t survive losing someone she’d allowed herself to get so close to again. So what could be done? A good question with no clear answer unfortunately.

“Lydia,” they all said, slowly turning and looking at her. But Lydia bolted, running up the stairs so fast it was unnatural. Oh dear.

Beetlejuice went after her, knowing she liked to head to the roof when she was upset. He saw her standing there, at the edge, looking like she was ready to jump off.

“Civil service in the afterlife is that much more appealing than me, huh?” self-depreciating humor that wasn’t so humorous wasn’t exactly the way to play this, but it was all he could say as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the house.

Lydia looked over her shoulder at him, surprised but not startled. She had known he would come after her. Had known he would know where she was. He knew her like that. But the prospect of losing him unless she slept with him was daunting, because it forced her to examine her own feelings for the demon. They were friends, but even between humans, there were very few friends who would have sex in order to help one of them out of a jam. If there were such friends like that at all. Friends with benefits weren’t friends, not the way she and Beetlejuice were. Lydia didn’t know what to think anymore; she couldn’t, she just _couldn’t_ …. Could she?

Lydia curled her arms around herself and turned away from him. She just couldn’t bear to lose him, but she adamantly insisted to herself that she couldn’t muster up any desire by looking at him either. Aesthetically, she knew, Beetlejuice was attractive. Well, as attractive as one could reasonably expect a centuries old undead demon to be. But when she looked at him, she saw… what _did_ she see? She’d flirted with him a little over the original course of their introduction, sly glances, teasing touches, then playing dumb and coy to get out of paying for what she knew she was doing to him. And yet, at the same time, despite the blackmailing her into marriage, despite her own plan of murdering her to rid herself of him, despite him coming back and groveling to be a part of her life again… despite all of that, Beetlejuice was her friend. Her goofy, sadistic, mean-spirited, best in this world and the next _friend_ . Being so close, this should have been easy to say yes to, but she just didn’t -or perhaps _refused_ to- see what would make someone find him attractive. Not even Katherine Hepburn finding him attractive was enough to convince her.

“I don’t want to jump,” she heard herself say, some part of her mind recalling he probably wanted a response in regards to his inquiry, “And I don’t want to lose you either, but Beetlejuice what can I do? I don’t think I can…” she gulped, “ _Consumate_ the marriage with you,”

“Why not?” Beetlejuice asked, much in the way of a small child. It was less about hearing the actual answer and more about why-ing the other person until they gave in.

“I don’t feel… like _that_ when I look at you,” Lydia confessed. Some small part of her knew that even as the words crossed her lips they were a lie. She never would have teased him, never would have taunted him, if she hadn’t found the prospect of him making her act on it even a little appealing. But she refused to acknowledge that part, insisting that it was a result of them being so close, friends could register a minute amount of attraction to one another. That was completely and totally normal.

“I never wanted you to,” Beetlejuice said matter-of-factly, “Though in retrospect maybe I should have. But at the time all I wanted was out, and hell,” he paused a moment, as though struggling to find the right words and eventually he huffed, “Look, you think it wouldn’t have been just as easy for me to possess you when you let me out? You think I seriously needed to blackmail you into marrying me?”

“So why didn’t you?” Lydia countered, folding her arms and looking at him with a skeptical brow.

“I dunno,” Beetlejuice kicked at an imaginary rock, hands stuffed down his pockets, “I guess… I mean, even with the extortion you were still making a choice. I didn’t wanna take that away from you. I care about ya, a lot more’n’ any of those deadbeats downstairs. But,” he added, leaning closer until he was looming over her despite their almost nonexistent height difference, “Just because I care more about you than the average speck of dirt beneath my boot, don’t mean I won’t hurt ya if it comes down to it,”

For the first time since she met him, Lydia felt afraid of him. Given his -what she would consider- default state of being it was easy to forget that he was in fact a demon. He was millennia old, if he could be believed on that, since he was also a liar. He wasn’t some sort of soft or squishy murder puppy. This was a man who had been more than willing not only to marry a minor for his own ends, but participate in an orgy which included his underaged bride and her biological father. Who had been willing to kill once she’d bailed on him. She saw it as he peered closer, the flecks of red in his golden eyes, the slightly reddish hue of his hair. The rough timber of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

It wasn’t the same kind of helpless fear she’d felt when Barbara’s afterlife was on the line and it was all her fault thanks to blindly putting her trust in a demon. It was a deeper, more carnal fear, far more personal, and far more complicated than simply being afraid. Despite how foolish it may have been considering he was cornering her and once again attempting to force her hand, Lydia knew instinctively Beetlejuice would never hurt her. Not in the way he hurt most people anyways. He wouldn’t hit her, wouldn’t put her life in peril. But she wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her by forcing her to do something she didn’t want to do ever again, and here she was presented with direct refutation of what she’d held to be an unspoken fact. But beneath the fear there was some other lingering emotion, one she couldn’t put a face to but knew what it felt like. Lydia liked scaring the crap out of people, but normally she wouldn’t say she liked being scared. And yet… the threat did _something_ to her. Tingles of awareness sent shooting through her body. A spark, waiting for the proper kindling to ignite. And that was possibly what scared her more.

“Wh-” she stammered, trying to ignore the contradictory feelings bubbling up inside her, “What do you mean?”

“Whaddya think I mean?” Beetlejuice asked, learning closer, “I’m a demon, kid. I don’t do _nice_. But even I’m bound by those damn rules of the dead. ‘Cept here’s the thing; I got my out and she’s standin’ right here in front of me. I ain’t goin’ back Lydia, and fuck it, if I have to burn a few bridges or set the world ablaze in order to keep my freedom; best believe I’ll do it without hesitation.”

“You-” Lydia licked her lips unconsciously, but noticed how his eyes darkened immediately as they focused on the motion, “You’d _hurt_ me?”

“I’d force ya,” Beetlejuice now had her caged in up against one of the outcroppings of the house, “As for hurtin’ ya,” he chuckled darkly, “Let’s just say if I’m gonna make ya scream, it ain’t gonna be in pain. Well…” he added thoughtfully, “Not for very long anyways.”

Lydia could feel the frantic thrumming of her heart reverberating through her ribcage. She’d seen him be scary, she’d seen him be a general prick to the living populous of Winter River. She’d even seen him at his most vulnerable when faced once again with his parental and abandonment issues head on. Then again, he’d fed his own mother to a sandworm, so maybe his issues weren’t as crippling as he’d made them seem. But never had she seen him act like _this_ towards _her_.

“I…” she couldn’t form words, her mouth was dry, and her knees were very much close to knocking, “I…” was all she could wrench from her throat, trying to protest but finding nothing she could throw back at him.

“I’ll tell ya what, let’s give ya the illusion of choice, shall we?” Beetlejuice whispered, inhaling the scent of her from the curve of her neck, “I’ll give ya three days. Three days to decide if you wanna do this the easy way or not. If you do, I promise I’ll be as gentle as a kitten with ya, no more pain than absolutely necessary. If you don’t however…” and there came that low chuckle, reverberating darkly through her slight frame, “I’ll drag ya down into the depths of Hell, kickin’ and screamin’ the whole way, n’ I’ll make everyone in that damn waiting room _watch_.”

Some deep part of her clenched at the threat. Though what it clenched _in_ she was neither certain of nor certain she wanted to know. Lydia’s hands grasped at the bodice of her dress crossing over each other to try and keep how fast her heart was beating hidden.

“Y-” she attempted to call his bluff, but it was difficult when she felt as though she couldn’t even _breathe_ , “You wouldn’t,”

Beetlejuice, still savoring the intoxicating perfume of fear and life, and the tiniest kernel of desire, pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, “Oh but I would,” he assured her, dark eyes glimmering with desirous malice, “I would do anything for ya babes. You wanna scare the shit outta someone? I’m more than willin’ to oblige. You want that bitch Claire Brewster afraid to breathe the same _air_ as ya? Say no more and it’s done. You need someone dead? I’ll do the deed _and_ hide the body. But don’t you go thinking I ever work pro bono. This is a quid pro quo type deal; and since I came back, you’ve been doin’ your fair share of abusing my supernatural abilities. Turnabout’s fair play, ain’t it kid?”

“ _You’re_ the one who begged to be allowed back in _my_ life!” Lydia shot at him, pushing ineffectually against his chest for a little more space to breathe, or to think clearly, whichever came first.

“So I felt bad because I care about ya,” Beetlejuice shrugged nonchalantly, “Just because I thought you were worthy of having an apology don’t make me any _less_ of a demon now does it?”

He had her there. Lydia frowned, an in an attempt to once again control the uncontrollable she acquiesced solely so she could say she’d done it on her own terms, “Fine then, three days. In three days I’ll tell you my decision.”

“I hope for your sake you make the right one,” Beetlejuice purred as he drew back, “Then again my underaged bride, either way I’ll still win. And being honest,” he leaned back in and delivered a long swipe of his tongue to her neck, “I like it when ya struggle,”

Lydia immediately stopped doing just that. And that was when he backed off. In that moment, Lydia would have sworn she hated him. It wasn't remotely true, of course, but in that moment it was all too easy to. Why was he acting like this? And more importantly, he had lied to her once, who was to say he wasn't doing it now? Lydia loved spending time with the demon, but she always took what he said with a big heaping handful of salt. He was a liar, first and foremost.

“Why are you doing this?” Lydia asked, willing the tears she could feel welling to remain in her ducts. She wouldn't cry. Not over him; not while he was acting like this.

His eyes darkened at her then. But not with lust or desire or even sadistic glee. No, there was black ice in his eyes, cold and contemptuous.

“You tried to get rid of me more than once Lydia,” he reminded her, “Forgive me if I'm not too keen on giving you the option to do it again. History's not on your side, and they _do_ say that the third time's the charm.”

But he backed off, tone low and ominous as he reminded her, “Three days my dear little cursed bride, and then ready or not; I'm coming for you.”

After he disappeared, Lydia sank to her knees, having lost all strength in her legs. God the man could be intimidating when he wanted to be. Which begged the question of why he usually didn’t want to be, but perhaps she was looking at things besides the point. Three days, never had it seemed like so much and yet so little time. And he would… _force her_ ? Would he really? She wondered. Even considering the forced marriage, he’d technically given her the choice. Lydia could have chosen to be selfish, to let Barbara die, again, and not marry him in the first place. But despite how much she pretended not to, Lydia cared. So she’d let herself be coerced. And now? Now it felt like he _purposefully_ wasn’t giving her a choice. Then again, his neck was the one on the line as opposed to Barbara’s. Even so, something about it seemed… off.

Lydia returned downstairs to concerned looks. When their fevered questions reached fever pitch she silenced them, saying, “Three days, he gave me three days,”

BJ BJ BJ

And so the three days came, and they went. It was time too much, she’d known what her only option was the moment he left her on the rooftop. She’d decided before her head hit the pillow that same night. Lydia knew what she had to do. Beetlejuice was counting on her, and theoretically they only had to do it once. She could tell him never again. The odds of him actually listening were slim but she could at least try to tell him that. He usually listened to her if she made it clear. Besides, he’d never dealt with a living partner now, if all those stories she’d pretended not to listen to to keep from encouraging him had told her anything. Living people bruised, and bled, and felt _pain_. And since he was dealing with not only a breather, but a virginal breather, Lydia didn’t have too much hope that this would be an enjoyable experience for anyone. She woke that fateful morning, heading out of her room like a prisoner awaiting execution. In her mind she could hear the death knell ringing.

Beetlejuice was waiting for her downstairs. When her arrival on the step was signaled to him he looked at her expectantly. Waiting for her answer. Lydia could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a reminder of just how alive she was. He said if she agreed he wouldn’t hurt her, not anymore than whatever they needed to do normally entailed. If she agreed, she would be treated with care, and if not; he would get mean, he would get nasty, he would probably throw her over his shoulder and carry her off somewhere they couldn’t be bothered and she couldn’t be saved. And oh god why wasn’t it just fear running through her at the thought?

The atmosphere was somber, tense. No one wanted to hear the answer they all knew she was going to give. Lydia had told them he’d do anything to keep his freedom, and everyone else knew they weren’t nearly powerful enough to stop him. Lydia’s choice wasn’t really a choice at all, except for how much pain she wanted to put herself through.

She took a deep breath, and said it, “Yes,”

His eyes lit up with unholy glee, and he strode towards her, “Well then,” he said as he placed her arm in his, “Let’s not waste any time.”

He led her back up the stairs, past her bedroom, which confused her. Beetlejuice seemed to realize this because he told her, “I ain’t takin’ ya in your bed until you _want_ me there. This bit is strictly business.”

Something about that made her feel oddly better. The fact that her bed wouldn’t be stained with memories of an unwanted experience. She still _didn’t_ want this, right? Her heart was pounding, but not so much with fear as anticipation and curiosity. No… no, she couldn’t actually… did she _want_ this? But… he was disgusting, a consummate pervert and all around gross being. A creepy old guy who’d taken one look at her and decided _she_ was his ticket to a good time. And now that she thought more about it, he’d had Delia up in chains too. A living, _unmarried_ Delia. His plan hadn’t gone balls up, not if the plan was solely about marrying a living person for a get out of death free card right?

The more she thought, the more confused she became. And the more confused she became, the more her mind whirled with what ifs and questionable motivations. And the more it did that, the more nervous she became.

Lydia tugged ineffectually at her arm locked in his, “Wait,” she told him, “I don't think- I need another moment before we do this-”

“Nope,” Beetlejuice shook his head, “You made your decision hellkitten, now you deal with it. ‘Sides, I told ya already, one way or another yer doin’ this; it's just a matter of how much you want it to hurt.”

Lydia tugged and tugged until she finally managed to extricate her arm from his grip. She immediately turned heel and began to run, looking if nothing else for a moment to breathe and calm down. She ended up locking herself in the bathroom, of only because some twisted part of her hoped that he wouldn't go anywhere near a room devoted to being clean and well groomed. He was wild, filthy chaos through and through and therefore the only safe place from him would logically be his antithesis.

Somehow, she should have also known that wouldn't work. He had been hot on her heels from the moment she fled. And she heard his fist, hard and weighty against the door like he was ready to break it down. Lydia had known that running wasn't going to do her any favors. But she'd acted on instinct, he had a habit of making her do that. And despite the confusion she felt, and the anger she could sense. She wasn't afraid. Not of him, in a sense, though he was very much in a fear inducing mood. She was afraid of how weak her knees were. Of how fast her heart pounded. Of how she finally realized for the first time, that it had never been about the green card. It had always been about her. Beetlejuice had wanted her, and he had exploited the rules to get her. Which… when she spent more than a moment without fear thinking about it, was perfectly in character for him. He wanted her, had been willing to kill in order to possess her, and that _scared_ her. The depth of his hidden devotion and obsession scared her. And yet, there was a heady sensation that was a mixture of flattery and dark pleasure that coursed through her body as the knowledge settled inside her.

There came a pounding at the door that jolted her out of her whirling thoughts. And the she heard his voice, deep, gravelly,

“Knock knock babes,” Beetlejuice rumbled, “I'll give ya two choices, either open this door and play nice, or I'll break it down and then you're _really_ in for it.”

Beetlejuice brought out only the best in her. The best of the worst, that was. And if there was one thing Lydia hated more than anything, it was the sort of high handed being told to do something Beetlejuice had a tendency to do with her. Desire quickly morphed into white hot rage,

“You forced me into marrying you, you forced your way back into our lives after we thought we’d gotten rid of you, and you've forced me into going through with this whole ridiculous consummation thing Beetlejuice,” Lydia hissed, “But you are not gonna force me to do _anything_ else until I'm good and ready to do it. Do you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door. And for a moment Lydia foolishly dared to hope she might have gotten through to him. But then she heard his answering chuckle, “Oh I get it,” he told her, sounding more and more amused with her little outburst, “So that's the way we wanna play things is it?”

With a snap the door burst into splinters before her. They fell in a heap at his dingy, dirty boots as he looked at her with that smarmy, self-satisfied smirk of his. Lydia had made a mistake deciding to hide. Now she was backed into a corner, unless she wanted to face death. And she didn't believe for a moment Beetlejuice would let her get that far. He took a step forward, she took one back until she was up against the wall. He bent down, grabbed her about the waist, picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder. Then he turned and strode right back out the door, repairing it with nothing more than a casual snap of his fingers. Lydia watched the door knit itself back together as though there was no damage ever done at all. Not a trace of a struggle. Her heart sank at the notion that he could do that.

Beetlejuice brought her back past her room, and part of her wondered if he might go back on his promise not to take her there until she wanted him to, a foolish promise since with the way he was acting she could never want him ever. But no, he kept going right on up to the attic. And then, she heard another snap. The sound of something being summoned. Or pulled out of nothingness; Lydia felt the soles of her shoes scrap against something. Something that felt like wood. She felt the drop as he stooped down, heard the rasp of friction as something was dragged against the wall. Up, over, down again. And then, the death knell she’d only imagined scant moments earlier rung out once, twice, thrice as he knocked. Taking a step back she heard the creaking sound of a door squeaking on its hinges, and saw the eerie green light as it poured itself out along the floor. Realization dawned. Her heart threatened to stop then and there, and she felt an outbreak of chills, followed by an impassable knot as it formed in her throat. No. Not there. Anywhere but there.

The Netherworld. Beetlejuice was taking her to the Netherworld. He was really going to consummate this marriage in front of a whole crowd of the recently deceased. And not a damn one of them were going to do anything to stop him. Lydia kicked and screamed and raged against him, but it was all for naught. His arm was like a brand over her, keeping her solidly locked into place. He’d lifted her up many a time before, she should have known her sleight weight would prove no challenge to him. Lydia felt the chill of death creep over her form, sinking beneath her skin and settling into her bones. It had been unpleasant the first time, but now it filled her with nothing but dread. She didn’t _want_ to go back into the belly of the whale. She didn’t _want_ to revisit the emotionally lowest point in her life thus far. She didn’t _want_ to remember how she’d given up on everything for a woman who wasn’t even there when she needed her. It was the first time she’d ever felt truly let down by her mother. And as much as Lydia missed her, it was a deep wound to revisit the one place where it had all fallen apart for her.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, voice hoarse and throaty with tears she could feel welling in her eyes.

“Hm?” Beetlejuice stopped walking long enough to shift her until he was holding her like a child might hold their favorite stuffed animal.

“Please,” Lydia’s lip quivered, “Please don’t bring me back there,” her eyes were glassy as she stared at him, “Please don’t make them watch, please don’t remind me of the time I knew once and for all my mother was gone forever. _Please_ ,”

And his angry and sadistic expression melted almost immediately, “Oh hell baby,” he said, immediately switching her position until she was cradled in his arms like a precious treasure, “I wasn’t really gonna do that,”

“You-” Lydia sniffed, “You weren’t?”

He had been, very much so. But she didn’t need to know that now did she? Lydia might have known he was a liar, but there were times not even she would be able to tell. And with her trembling like a scared little kitten in his arms he didn’t feel the need to be as rough as he had been before. If he had known just being here would be enough to break her down into complacency he would have tried this from the very beginning.

“No baby no,” Good thing he had some ramshackle dwelling already here. It wasn’t much, especially considering how long he’d been away from it. But it would be much more inviting than the eyes of strangers staring as he degraded his beautiful bride for their viewing pleasure. Besides, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to share her with anyone else. Lydia was and always would be his. He’d known it from the moment he first saw her on that roof. She just hadn’t realized it yet, “I just wanted to make you aware of how dire the situation was, ‘sall. C’mere,” he snuggled her up closer to him and watched as her arms automatically twined around his neck. Regardless of her teenage cynicism, she trusted him too much for her own good. Even as he marched on Beetlejuice couldn’t help the fond smile that crossed his lips. Cynical and jaded and willing to kill a man but so hopeful and naive beneath it all. That was his Lydia.

The roadhouse was decrepit and run down, as was befitting one of the oldest structures in the Neitherworld. But any residents who dwelled there knew better than to stick around when its owner rolled back into town. Beetlejuice kicked in the door and walked her past all the mess, straight to his room. With a wiggle of his fingers the broken down old bed was replaced with something worthy of the precious little onyx he held in his arms. Four posters, black and white stripes curling around like smoke and steam, gauzy black curtains, red and black sheets made of silk. Only the finest for his babydoll. And speaking of…

Lydia took in a gasp as she felt the clothing against her skin taken away as if by magic. Or not taken away but altered in some manner. She caught sight of herself in a cracked mirror as he finished with the preparations, dressed in racy red lingerie from see-through stockings with their frilly little garters to a nightgown she may as well not have been wearing for all the coverage it provided her, and the blood red bra and thong that was under it. Why he was bothering with the ceremony she didn’t understand. But he always was a showman, theatrics were what he did best. And naturally, there was a black crown with blood red gems set upon her brow, a veil just as red as the rest of her trailing out from behind it.

Beetlejuice seemed finished fiddling with the bed, and he set her down amidst a bunch of black and dying red roses. Lydia felt like a virginal sacrifice, which probably wasn't too far off from what this actually was. She closed her eyes to try and calm the frantic beating of her heart. The air was stale here, which she imagined was par for the course since all who dwelled here didn’t need to breathe. There was a soft groan as she felt his weight settle down by her hips, sitting on the edge of the bed. Idly she remembered some inane piece of advice from one of her mother’s gothic “romance” novels. The ones that were closer to written porn than actual romance. Of how the embittered mothers tied down in loveless marriages always advised their daughters to simply close their eyes and go somewhere else, all the while the man took his pleasure. Typically that advice was flouted as the plucky heroine was introduced to pleasure unlike that any one woman in high society of proper class and breeding would ever experience in her life. Any one woman besides the protagonist of course. But this wasn’t a romance novel, and Lydia Deetz was no shying, retiring ingenue finding love in a rogue with a heart of gold.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to heed the advice of those fuddy duddy fictional matrons. Lydia was at least able to steady her breathing and feel like things weren’t quite so bad. But of course, he wouldn’t even let her have that.

“Lydia,” it was sort of stupid, but she’d always loved the way he said her name. Like it was so precious not even a single syllable could be taken from it, hence the nickname babes. It had come at a time when she’d been desperate for someone, anyone, to see her and say her name register that she was there. He’d said it like he’d known her pain, the pain of having no one there to give him purpose, because there was no one to say his name. Her name was a priceless object in his mouth. And because of that, her attention was always drawn to him whenever he said it. Lydia opened her eyes. He was leaning over her slightly, striped jacket discarded and his blotchy black tie loosened. One hand came to cup her jaw and then he was kissing her. Out of all the ways Lydia had frantically imagined this playing out -most of which included different variations of him just immediately discarding or destroying her clothes and having at it- she’d never imagined this.

He was soft, gentle even. All the things he claimed not to be. Beetlejuice was nothing more than a sexed starved, sexed up pervert, but Lydia would be damned if he didn’t know how to kiss. Well, if she had one critique it was maybe that she had to remind him she still needed to breathe, but considering he was dead and and up until this point had only fucked dead people, Lydia counted that less against him and more against his circumstances. Regardless, she broke apart for air and took in heaping, gulping gasps. Lydia hadn’t noticed until now that her hands were fisted tightly in the material of his shirt, now partially undone having lost a couple of buttons somewhere along the way. Nor had she noticed one of the straps of her little negligee having slid down her shoulder. He really wasted no time did he?

Beetlejuice drew back and thanks to her refusal to let go of him, Lydia was pulled into a sitting position. Well… she was in this bed already, no reason she shouldn’t get _something_ out of it. She reached forward and cupped his face with a hand, leaning in to kiss him again. But the question occurred to her and she couldn’t help but ask,

“Are you still going to hurt me?” there was no way he could decimate her any worse than she’d been when he’d taken her back here. Emotionally at least. But he was still very much capable of hurting her physically if he so desired. She just wanted to know what the plan was, things were easier to deal with if she knew they were coming.

Beetlejuice closed his eyes for a moment and gave her a mirthless breath of laughter, “Prob’ly,” he told her, voice lacking all artifice which was how she knew he was being honest with her, as honest as he got at any rate, “But trust me baby, ‘f I’m gonna hurt ya, it’ll be the good kinda pain.”

The words brought back a slew of emotions and memories that seemed a lifetime ago but in reality were only a few days gone. The same sort of sentiment he’d growled into her ear, and the way Lydia’s body had seized up in what had been fear, and as she now had to admit to herself, desire. Lydia was strange and unusual, it only made sense that sort of thing would transfer over to her sexual predilections. It took a deep breath from her to finally accept that her desires were likely as dark and twisted as his own. What she’d been afraid of wasn’t fucking him, it was what fucking him would mean. What she would have to admit in order to do so. But allowing herself to want in this lack of time and space, she found it all too easy, and less daunting, to proceed. Lydia brought her other hand up to his jaw and he opened his eyes at her at that,

“So long as you promise to make it go away in the end,” she breathed, heart beating frantic at the admission she was about to make, “You can hurt me any way you like,”

He was silent a moment, and then she felt it. The shaking of his frame burbling up into unconcealed mirth. Beetlejuice began to laugh, and it went on long enough that Lydia was almost convinced he was laughing at her, until he raised a hand over one of her own,

“A gal after my own heart,” he said, bemused but nonetheless sincere.

Lydia chuckled herself, “If I recall correctly, your heart’s something I already ownt,”

“Nah, drivin’ a blunt rod through it don’t count,” Beetlejuice informed her, “But I can take it out and give it to ya, ‘f ya want,”

“Way to ruin the mood,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Yeah but seriously," Beetlejuice brought the conversation back to the matter at hand, "Don't sweat the pain, I can save the really kinky shit for another time.”

"Thought you _wanted_ to hurt me?" Lydia prodded, "Or that it was going to hurt either way,"

“Don’t you worry about a thing babes,” Beetlejuice told her, “They don’t call me the ghost with the most for nothin’.”

“Ghost? I thought you were a demon,”

“Been dead long enough I’m not really sure _what_ I am anymore, aside from one thing.”

“And that would be?”

“Yours,” he told her, “Just like you’re mine.”

Lydia felt her heart seize yet again and with a groan she attempted to pull away, “I swear you’re trying to kill me when you say things like that,”

He refused to let her, following forward as he answered, “Death ain’t gonna touch you so long as I’m around sugar, that’s _my_ job.”

“Seems like you’re taking an awfully long time to do it then,” Lydia retorted even as she found herself laid back against the bed again.

“Back with the smart mouth already,” Beetlejuice remarked, “Hard to believe you were tremblin’ in my arms like a l’il leaf earlier.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t derailed the tension-” Lydia offered with a roll of her eyes, “Hard to be afraid when you keep stalling, or do I have to do this myself?”

“Keep it up,” he warned her, “And I’ll find something to stop up that pretty l’il mouth of yours.”

“I have a few ideas of my own,” Lydia murmured, eyes like magma as she clutched at his collar and moved his face down to meet back up with her own. Everything about them being together screamed contradiction and acted as an affront to nature. Death was supposed to take life, not join in union with it. But Beetlejuice had always loved giving a big middle finger to rules and convention. Fuck them all, so long as he had Lydia.

He felt her fingers twine in his hair, scritching at a scalp that never itched. It felt good all the same. Everything about Lydia felt good, from the wet warmth of her mouth and tongue as it curled around his to the innocent displays of want as her inexperienced body began to undulate against his own, seeking out something she didn’t even know she wanted. But the trick to a repeat audience was to keep them wanting more, so Beetlejuice broke away only tor trail kisses down her neck, hands roughly groping at her breast and playing with the hardened peak through the flimsy lace of the bra. Lydia groaned, hands tightening on his shoulders and had it not been for the thin barrier of his own shirt he was certain she would have left marks in his back. Not that he minded. Beat him up, break him down, turn him black and blue. In the name of sex he had no taboos. Beetlejuice inched down further, taking the negligee with him. And quickly he realized that despite it being a sort of wedding night treat for himself, Lydia was wearing entirely too much clothing. Well, that could be easily fixed. With a snap of his fingers everything save the stockings, garters, and her veil melted off of her and she was entirely subject to his perusal and scrutiny. Not that there was much to scrutinize. Would he have complained if her chest was a little more ample? No but what he got was everything he wanted. His blushing mortal bride, just beginning to drown in a haze of lust and desire for him.

Beetlejuice took one peak in his mouth and began to suckle like a newborn infant. There was no sustenance given or taken, only pleasure and the exchange thereof. He felt her hands frantic, trying to grasp onto something, anything to keep her anchored even while she was swept out under his ministrations. Fun as turning her tips rosy as a flower was, he had other body parts he felt he should attend to before he finally got his. Placing one last kiss to each of her breasts he moved down, down, down until he met with another pair of lips. It was a single exploratory digit that parted them and dipped inside. She was positively dripping. Or maybe he was just used to his other partners lacking natural lubrication and having to improvise. Either way, it didn’t really matter as he delved further into her, lowering his mouth to follow.

Lydia had very little expectations of Beetlejuice beyond him taking what he wanted in order to keep his freedom. Perhaps he would indulge her a little bit for the sake of her own ego. In all actuality she’d planned to disassociate from whatever did end up happening hard enough that she may as well have repressed it. She’d known that Beetlejuice wouldn’t let her get away from him, wouldn’t let her be the one thing that kept him from maintaining his relative freedom. But she’d hoped he would give her something to hate him for. Something to make sure she never wanted to repeat this with him again. He had forced her hand, just like he’d forced the marriage in the first place. But this time getting rid of him wasn’t as simple as shoving a pole through his back. There _was_ no getting rid of him, as he’d proven he’d just chase her down to get what he wanted. And no one else in the house would have been able to protect her from him. She’d expected him to be as brutish and tactless as he was with just about everything except a good scare.

Lydia honestly should have known better. If there was one thing Beetlejuice had ever hated more than the rules of anyone or anything, it was being invisible. He wanted to be unforgettable no matter what. In a twisted sort of way, it made sense that he would force he back to this utter mockery of reality. To have her slipping off the precipice of sanity and yet be fully aware all the while of just _who_ it was shoving her off of every edge imaginable. His kiss should have disgusted her, but it only inflamed her. His hands should have felt disgusting as they pawed and groped at her, but they caused every nerve ending in her skin to fire off in shock that wasn’t at all unpleasant. And his tongue should have been one of the most vile and repulsive parts of him. She shouldn’t want it anywhere _near_ her, let alone allowing it entry into her mouth, and then with a sharp gasp, into her body. He ate at her like she held ambrosia within her blood, the secret to immortality and life eternal. Like if he let a single drop go to waste he would be dead come morning. Lydia writhed and undulated against him, thrashing about even as two hands kept her held down steadily. Wait, two hands on her hips, and both a tongue and unmistakably fingers inside her…. Then again Beetlejuice had manifested extra bodyparts for their own benign amusement before. It shouldn’t have surprised her he’d employ their use here. Fractured thoughts and emotions ran riot through her brain even as her body began to short circuit from the arduous task of trying to keep up with and process every sensation he wrought out of her body. A body that felt more his than her own. Lydia shouldn’t have wanted this, she should have been crying out assault at every turn. She should have lamented the fact that this would forever taint their friendship, the stain far more lasting and shameful than any blackmail extortion green card marriage. Lydia should have done and felt a lot of things. What she was feeling instead was a taste of ecstasy she’d never derived from the hands of the mortal breathing boys she’d toyed with before being moved to a haunted house in Winter River. Unholy, demonic, unreal. And like an aged tree falling to the electric onslaught of a violent thunderstorm, she snapped.

How many pieces he broke her into with that final swipe of his tongue and twist of his fingers, Lydia wouldn’t have been able to tell you. She returned to consciousness -if you could really call it that- with a ringing in her ears that spoke of some piercing noise. Like a scream. Had she screamed? She didn’t remember much of the last few moments, uncertain if even time passed here in the same manner it did back home. And there was certainly no telling how long her soul had felt like it had physically departed her body from the overload. The silk felt good against her heated skin, it was an idle thought that served as her only anchor as she slowly gathered what wits she still possessed. Every inch of her body below her neck felt like it too was waking from a hundred year nap, stirring in some sort of languorous stupor. Still, she struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and look him in the eyes. In the aftermath, Beetlejuice had fully discarded his shirt and tie, though his pants remained in place’ filthy, grungy, and now tented severely.

The shift in her breathing must have alerted him, because he turned to face her. What expression must she have been making, to garner the one she received in response? Was it perhaps one of curious hunger? Lydia had known the sensation of a hardon as it pressed insistently against a leg or hip when fooling around with lesser men before. But to see it so blatantly, without artifice or finesse or false proclamations of sentiment neither of them put voice to as of yet. Lydia struggled to her hands and knees, reaching over and touching it. His arousal jumped under her touch. Were someone to see them now they might never have guessed how this all began. She palmed him, testing the weight and the chill in her hands. While she couldn’t be certain he wasn’t using magic, she _was_ certain that he was bigger than any she’d felt before. Perhaps that had been what he meant by hurting her without meaning to.

“Having fun?” he asked casually. But the sort of casual one could tell was forced by the clenching of his jaw and the tightness in his voice. It was a power almost as enthralling and addictive as it had been when she’d duped him into thinking she’d let him out more than once that night on the roof she’d impulsively planned to be her last.

“Take it off,” even to her own ears it sounded like someone she was not. That voice was hoarse, breathy, lustful even. What creature from hell was he turning her into.

He gave her no answer. Not one with words. He simply stood, and shucked his pants without any fanfare. And then, Beetlejuice turned back to her. To see him like this, fully bared, just as vulnerable in a sense as she was. It was heady, it was powerful. And Lydia’s mouth went dry. He was not nor would he ever be an Adonis. But she was no Aphrodite, and this was no Eden eternally replenished. He didn’t need to be the ideal image of male attractiveness. Her little splintering of sanity at his hands was more than proof looks weren’t what counted, it was skill. And skill was something he had in abundance.

He caught her stare and smirked, flexing a little as he asked her, “‘S a matter Lydia? Speechless?”

And she was. Her throat was dry, but her mouth watered. Swiping a tongue against swollen lips she nodded mutely, beckoning him with her eyes. The time for fun and games was over. Was there a point to this beyond desire? If so Lydia had forgotten what it was. No, no she hadn’t. She’d just stopped caring. Who cared if he’d forced her hand? Who cared if this was only to cement his green card status in the world of the living? Who cared that the man who’d caused her so much grief for a scant amount of happiness would be the source of her dark desires? Who cared that it was wrong, so long as the pleasure washed away all rational objections?

With a hand so gentle she barely felt it, he pressed her back against the pillows. Roses scattered to the floor, breaking like fine pieces of porcelain and scattering their petals against the dirty floor. Lydia spread herself as wide as she could manage, telling Beetlejuice without words that she was ready. The demon settled himself over her, then against her. The contradiction between her heat and his chill caused strangled sounds to escape both of them. Her a gasp, him a tortured groan. For him, he imagined this was as close to heaven as a blackened soul like his would ever get. But who needed redemption when he had a sullen, sadistic girl treating him like something to be worshipped? With a hand far more steady than he actually felt, Beetlejuice slipped inside her. Lydia stretched, feeling over full, too full, too much. But the thought of him withdrawing now was cause for arms and legs to wind themselves about his body like she was the serpent and he the tree of forbidden knowledge. Eve had always been faulted as either her pride or naivete caused the downfall of man. But as the thrill of the forbidden went awash through her veins, Lydia began to wonder if Eve hadn’t wanted to fall. 

He withdrew and pushed back in, her muscles fluttering around him. Her fingers dug into everything they could find purchase with. There were no words, only sounds that ranged from vaguely coherent to animalistic to downright violently psychotic as passions rose and firmly took control. Strictly business, Beetlejuice had once called their supposed union. But there was nothing business about this. Not the insistent snap of hips that pushed against her own pelvis hard enough to leave bruises, not whispered declarations of filthy desires passed between them like pennies for thoughts, not the sweat of her body as it used up every bit of energy it possessed trying to keep her alive through the whole process. But if she had to die, what a way to go. It was over after an eternity too short to measure; one broken gasp, one bitten lip and arched back and both of them were goners. The cycle repeated itself several times over the course of lightless days and nights.

BJ BJ BJ

Only Beetlejuice stirred hearing a knock at his battered door. Throwing his voice he instructed the visitor to come in and find their way to him. He wasn’t getting out of bed for anything, not when he had his precious Lydia curled up and sleeping fitfully at his side. He’d worn her out certainly, but even so his appetite had only just been whetted. Still, she was more fun a lay when she was awake than when she wasn’t. And pretty soon, she’d be ready for all the things they’d promised each other in the heat of the moment. Six climaxes might have made her a little forgetful, but he’d be sure to remind her, payment for her promises wasn’t too much to ask after all.

The sound of heels striking against the floor in a staccato pattern alerted him to the interloper long before the flash of green skin appeared in his bedroom doorway. Miss Argentina. She stood there looking at the scene as though she couldn’t believe it had actually happened at all. Then again, she also knew him better than most ghouls, so perhaps her reaction wasn’t that much of a surprise either.

“Tina,” he acknowledged, juicing up a cigarette for himself to suck on. Whatever lecture she was preparing, he’d be a lot more engaged if he also had something to occupy otherwise idle hands. If he didn’t, well, Lydia had only just sunken into the restful portion of sleep. He’d hate to wake her up for something as uninteresting and irrelevant to her as this.

“Rayas,” she tilted her chin up at him. Rayas, stripes, even though his were currently scattered in several places on the floor. Her fingers clutched tight to that damn clipboard of hers, even as she raised it like she was afraid he’d rip her apart. He could, and had he not been more concerned with thoughts of how long he’d be able to let Lydia sleep before claiming her as his own once again he might have even entertained thoughts of doing so. But she spoke, “It’s been a week topside,” Tina informed him, “The Deetz-Maitlands have been inquiring about her, and they’re starting to tie up the mirror lines,”

“They’ll get her back, when they get her and not a moment before,” Beetlejuice informed her, flicking some ash off the lit end, “And you can quote me on that,”

“Are you at least going to let her speak to them?” Tina asked him.

“Maybe,” he allowed, “If I don’t make her jaw too sore first,” he added with a leery grin, “Now don’t you have paperwork and stiffs to process?”

“Rayas you can’t keep her here forever,” Tina admonished, “She doesn’t belong here,”

“And neither do I,” Beetlejuice reminded the former beauty queen, “Don’t worry,” he told her, “We won’t be staying much longer. A honeymoon’s only good if it don’t last forever anyways. Besides,” he continued, “All her school uniforms are back home, and I have a couple of scenarios I’ve been just _dying_ to-”

“Stop,” Tina held out a hand, “I don’t want to know. I feel bad enough as it is already.”

“You owed me a favor,” Beetlejuice told her, “Now consider it repaid, and get the hell out before I change my mind.”

“Why did you even bother with facilitating this whole charade?” Tina asked him, “The marriage was legal and binding no matter what. You know that; your living existence -brief though it was- was proof of that.”

“You’re lucky you’re already dead, or else I’d have killed you for sticking your nose where it don’t belong,” Beetlejuice replied, ashing the cigarette and turning over to stroke his sleeping bride’s hair, “But I guess I can tell you; see, Lydia is many things. She’s hot as hell, cold as ice, cruel as a demon, but caring as an angel. She’s a walking contradiction, which makes her the only one I’d ever consider seriously being married to. Unfortunately,” he added shooting Tina a momentary glance before letting himself be fully absorbed by his wife’s sleeping form, “she’s also stubborn as hell. I knew there was no way she’d ever admit to wanting me like I wanted her unless her hand was…”

“Forced?”

“I prefer the phrase, ‘gently persuaded,’” Beetlejuice offered.

Tina scoffed, “You can prefer it all you want, that doesn’t make it true.”

“Regardless,” Beetlejuice waved the issue of semantics away like it was nothing more than lingering smoke, “Lydia is mine, she was always meant to be mine. I just needed a little help getting her to see that.”

“And now?” Tina asked, fearful for the girl, but too much of a self-preservationist to know even thinking that trying to take her away from Beetlejuice would lead to anything but disaster.

“Now, you get the hell out of here so I can finish enjoying my honeymoon. And I leave with the realm more or less intact. Got it?”

“Comprendo,” Tina replied, scurrying out of there as quickly as was possible. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the girl and her fate, or guilty about Beetlejuice being out of their hair once and for all. So with a couple of Ave Maria’s spoken under her breath, Tina returned to her grind of a job.

Satisfied that everything was taken care of, Beetlejuice gently prodded Lydia, “Oh Lydia,” he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder, “Wake up sleepyhead,”

Lydia groaned, rolling over to cuddle into his chest in an attempt to shut out consciousness, “What?” she groaned, “What is it?”

“C’mon,” he cajoled, pressing a lazy kiss against her lips, “Rise and shine sleeping beauty,”

“Ugh,” Lydia replied, shifting and yawning and arching against him as she stretched, “What time is it?”

“Oh babes, don’t you know?” he teasingly asked as he reached under the blanket to grope at her breast, stoking that fire in her once again, “It’s Showtime,”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


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